They say there are at least three million shipwrecks around the world. What are our ranks, I wonder? I can imagine them — broken, slightly important things like us — surrounded by tears and seawater — floating, sinking and trembling in the crashing waves. Scenic disasters.
People keep saying that I should be kinder to myself, that I should leave behind everything that’s making me suffer. But I refuse. I don’t mind the ugly, I mind the untrue.
Not everyone will understand and I don’t need them to. I mean, I also have no idea how to be kind to myself. It’s a tall order. Your kindness is enough, I guess, to keep me afloat. But I know I need much more from myself and from the world to make me move. We can’t stay in the same place forever.
We are storms over calm oceans. And in time, I hope we can escape to wherever we want to go, with enough violence to keep ourselves going despite the destruction. I hope everything will be worth the wait.